Martha Speaks - To Death - 2 Parts
by NoxPerpetuo
Summary: Helen is all grown up. Martha is dying of old age. Helen announces she is going to college halfway across the country, and Martha has to stay behind to deal with the implications of her impending doom all alone. When a strange and mysterious creature appears and asks Martha to follow it, she steps away from the reality she has known. But, what IS reality to a talking dog, anyways?
1. Chapter 1

Martha Speaks - To Death - 2 Parts

"Helen! I changed my mind! Don't go!" cried Martha, as Helen climbed into the driver's seat of her second-hand Buick LeSabre.

"Now Martha, we've discussed this. I have to go. If I don't go, I'll never get another opportunity like this again," said Helen, as she pushed Martha's paws off her her lap. "You don't want me to end up stuck in Wagstaf City for the rest of my life, do you?"

"No, but..." stuttered Martha, her paws dancing nervously on the pavement.

"No buts. I have to leave or I'll miss my flight," she said as she began to pull the car door closed. "I... I'll miss you, Martha, but they won't let me have a pet in the dorms. Now step back," she said. "I don't want to close your tail in the door."

"I love you, Helen," said Martha, before she stepped away.

"I love you too, you crazy dog. I'll miss you. I'll visit you every summer, okay?"

Reluctantly, Martha took another step back, hanging her head, her tail drooping between her back legs. If dogs could cry, there would have been tears blurring her vision. Helen closed the door and turned the ignition. The car sputtered to life before she rolled down the window.

"Goodbye," said Martha quietly, as Helen put the car in gear and drove away.

When she was gone, Martha sighed and went to lay down in front of the front door of the house. Helen wouldn't be back until Winter Break, almost five months away. Five months was almost two dog years. She wasn't going to see Helen again, she knew. She might not have that much time before...

Small dogs could live twenty human years. Larger breeds, like herself, might get ten or fifteen human years before they met their ultimate end. Martha was now seventeen years old, and she wasn't getting any younger. The cancer inside her was weakening her body every day. She knew she wasn't going to last until Winter Break.

It didn't matter, though. Helen had been given a full-ride scholarship to one of the most prestigious veterinary schools in the country. She had to go, because an opportunity like this might come only once in a lifetime. The only trouble with that was this school was on the other side of the country, and there was no way Martha would be allowed to live in the dorms with her.

Helen had to choose between spending Martha's last days in Wagstaf City, or the bright future that extended out beyond Martha, Wagstaf and everything that had been before. It pained Martha to see Helen stuck with such a difficult choice, and it hurt even more that Helen hadn't chosen to stay with her until the end.

In the past few years, Martha had come to the realization that humans lived many times longer than dogs. Helen had to plan for a future that could last eight or ten times an average dog's life. One day soon, she knew, Helen was going to have to go on and on and on without her.

Why did that day have to be today, though? She still had a little life in her, and she hated the idea of spending the last few months of that life without the person she loved the most.

Martha knew that compared to the humans, she was a simple, honest creature. Usually, she said what was on her mind. Most of what she thought about was food and family, so she never had to hold anything back, even after the day she had taken her first bite of Granny's Alphabet Soup, and the humans suddenly understood her.

Now that the end was near, she found herself hiding her true feelings from the ones she loved the most. Even though they weren't dogs, Martha loved them instinctually, as if they were her pack. It pained her to keep things from them. Hiding your inner thoughts from the pack was a deep betrayal of their trust. Amongst dogs, this kind of behavior would have made the others send her into exile.

The humans hardly seemed to notice. After all of the millions of years of instinctual communal wisdom Martha had shared with them, they still didn't seem to understand what she was really saying. They were all like little fortresses, walled off from the rest of life-kind and even one another. No wonder it took a miracle to make them hear her words at all.

Magic doesn't exist, she knew. Helen had told her so several times since the day that conversations between the two of the them became possible.

What she wished for now was another miracle. She wanted...

Martha had to admit she didn't know what she wanted. This sense of being conflicted was utterly new to her. Dogs weren't conflicted creatures. Most dogs always knew what they wanted, and expressed these needs without hesitation. If the need wasn't immediately met, most of the dogs she knew were willing to be satisfied what they could get, or wait forever.

But Martha didn't have forever, and she knew it.

The universe had given her a miraculous gift, one that had never been granted to any creature since The Great Rift, and one that might never be given to any creature after. She felt like it was being greedy to ask for anything more than this. In her heart, though, this is what she desired above all else.

Martha stood and stretched. She wished she still had Skits around to talk to. He had always been a lummox, but he was also the gentlest companion Martha could have asked for. He could have comforted her in the ways she needed. He had always had a knack for smoothing out the conflicts that arose from mixing so closely with the humans. But he had died three years ago.

When he was still alive, he would have curled up beside her, his warm, boney back pressed against hers, and he would have whispered The Tales to her until she slept. It was what dogs had done for ten thousand years, for uncounted generations. In those early months, before the humans had dragged her, yipping and crying away from her mother the very last time, before she was sold to a pet shop in the city, then resold and eventually abandoned to her fate by an unkind master, her mother had whispered The Tales to her and the others as they crouched there in the dim cage at the puppy-mill.

Skits would have told her The Two-Tailed Puppy, which was always her favorite. He would have laughingly told The Dog Who Wore Clothes, because it had reminded him of Martha. He would have shivered though The Wolf-Dog, which always terrified him. As she drifted off to sleep, he would have whispered the epic tale of The Great Rift, which told of all the things the humans had lost since that day, more than ten thousand years ago, when they stopped understanding the speech of other creatures and started overtaking the world. He had kept her in line, reminding her time and again that no matter how human she felt, she was first and always a dog.

Without Skits, and now without Helen, she felt the despair driving deep, like an arrow in her heart.

"Martha!" Helen's mother cried through the back door of the house. "It's food time!"

Martha paced slowly into the back, and pushed through the doggy door that led into the kitchen.

"I gave you an extra helping today," said Helen's mother gently. "Before you eat, you need to take your medication, please."

Martha stood patiently and waited for Helen's mother to push the pill deep into a glob of waiting peanut butter. Peanut butter had always been Martha's favorite treat, and it was the only way she would ever agree to swallow any of the dusty, bitter-smelling pills the humans called 'medicine'.

"Here you go," she said brightly, and set a paper plate down on the floor in front of her. "Hurry up and take your medicine, Martha."

Martha ate the peanut butter without tasting it. Somewhere inside, she knew there was a bitter pill that contained a substance meant to help her fight off the cancer. When she was done, she went and sat before her bowl of soup. For the first time ever, she didn't have the slightest urge to eat it.

It had been sixteen human years since the puppy-mill, fifteen of which she'd spent here, and twelve years since the humans had suddenly started to hear her voice.

To them, it was shocking to hear Martha speak, even though, from her own perspective, she had always had a voice of her own. Most dogs didn't even bother trying to speak to their owners, because it was well-known that humans were deaf to the cries of other creatures. Martha had always been different in that respect. She insisted on talking to them directly as if they weren't deaf, even before she was understood. (A practice for which the other dogs had taunted her mercilesssly.) Martha wondered if things might have been the same if she had been a typical dog. Maybe, no one would have noticed her new ability simply because she never would have used it in their presence.

The humans had immediately tried to pinpoint a logical cause for this dog, this simple creature, this beast, suddenly being granted the power of human speech. Eventually, they landed on the notion that it was the leftover alphabet soup they gave her the night before. No one was ever absolutely sure what had happened, but over time, they grew accustomed to Martha's speech. And, based on some of the things that happened later, it did seem that the soup had something to do with it.

"I don't think I'm hungry today," she said, emerging from her thoughts.

"At least have a bite," said Helen's mother.

"No. Put it in the fridge for now. I'll eat it later, okay?" said Martha, before she padded back through the kitchen and into the back yard.

The peanut butter was enough to keep her sated until later. She wasn't sure if she really wanted to eat the soup anymore. She wasn't sure she actually liked her miraculous capacity for human speech. In the last few months, it had caused her nothing but pain. Maybe, it might be better to allow herself to be what she had always been, a dog, no more, no less.

Martha's nose caught an unfamiliar scent, and she whipped her head around to see where it was coming from.

"Psst!" chattered a voice somewhere on the other side of the fence.

"Hello?" said Martha. "Who's there?"

"Want to chase?" chattered a squirrel voice.

"I do. But I don't think I have it in me anymore," she sighed.

Wierd. What squirrel actually asked to be chased?

There was a skittering, scratching sound as the squirrel climbed the fence post and sat on top. She'd never seen a squirrel quite like this one before. He was fat, and his pitch black fur glistened in the sun, like someone had combed oil into him. His lithe, bottle-brush shaped tail was black, too, except for the very tip, which was a pearly white color.

His tiny black eyes sparkled with intelligence. He sat there, perched up on his hind legs, staring at her. After a while, Martha started to feel uncomfortable. Maybe the medication was starting to kick in, or maybe...

There was something not quite normal about the way this squirrel sat so still. One of the reasons she had always enjoyed a good squirrel chase was because of the way they never, ever seemed to stop moving. Always, they jittered and twitched, their eyes never fixing on a single point for more than a few seconds before bouncing on to something else. This squirrel sat still, though. It's eyes never wavered for a second. It's paws didn't knead one another. It didn't chew nervously or even seem to breathe. Its strange tail, like a furry twig with a ball at one end, was perfectly poised, unmoving.

"Sorry, squirrel. I never thought I'd be saying this, but I think I would rather just lay around in the grass until supper. I don't feel like chasing you guys today."

"No. Doggie come with me. Chase. Follow. Take a walk," it said.

When Martha didn't move, it climbed down the fence post and came toward her.

For some reason, Martha wasn't sure she wanted this squirrel to come any closer. The uncomfortable feeling she had increased with every step it took.

"Um..." she said.

"Martha Dog, come with me," it said. "I show you something."

"Um..." she said again, as the hair on her back began to stand up. "I... I cant. I..."

She stood up, and leaned away from it, preparing to flee if it came any closer.

"I show you the magic," it said, and sat back on its hind legs again.

"There's no such thing," Martha said automatically, before feeling suddenly very stupid for blurring such a thing without thinking it through.

"So humans say," said the squirrel, his round little eyes watching her closely. "We beasts know better."

"Um..." said Martha, unable to come up with an intelligible response.

"You coming?" it chittered, before whipping around and skittering back the way it had come, up the fencepost, and out of sight.

The uncomfortable feeling left her, only to be replaced by an even stronger feeling of curiosity. What harm could there be in following it? It was just one little squirrel.

Martha sighed wearily, and padded toward the back gate. It would probably be gone when she got there. The squirrels liked to play tricks, she knew, although these tricks usually involved sitting on one of the lower branches of the acorn tree in the park so they could taunt her and throw nuts at her. Never once had one of them asked her to follow it anywhere.

When she was on the other side of the fence, though, she could see it waiting for her.

"Come, doggie," it said, and hurried away from her before she could formulate the burning question that had lodged itself so suddenly in her mind. "Where are we going?!" she cried, willing her heavy legs to keep pace with it.

It was already around the corner, though. There was nothing to do but follow it and see what it wanted. Maybe...


	2. Chapter 2

Martha didn't recognize this part of the forest, even though she thought she'd explored nearly everything in the fourteen years since she'd been adopted by her family in Wagstaf. Carefully, she stepped over gnarled tree roots, and ducked beneath damp, low-hung tree branches.

Every time the squirrel stopped, she felt sure she wouldn't need to travel any further into the tangled greenery. As soon as she got close, it would just dart away from her again.

"Where are we going?!" she shouted after it, but the only response it would give her was a chittered, "Come, doggie!"

"How much further?" she huffed.

"Not far!" came a distant reply from beyond the thickening mist. "Come doggie!"

Come to think of it, when did all this fog roll in? How long had she been traveling this way? She could barely see the nose in front of her face, this stuff was so thick. She stopped. Which way had she come from? Her normally excellent sense of direction didn't seem to be giving her any clues.

Was it still morning time? The light here was... wrong for morning. Wisps of fog coiled around her, so substantial, they almost seemed to embrace her as they swirled past. It couldn't be later than mid-afternoon, but the dim light that oozed down through the fog seemed to tell her it was closer to sunset now.

"Are we there yet? I'm not playing! If this is some kind of squirrely trick, I'll..."

"Here!" cried the squirrel suddenly, a tinge of triumph in his voice.

"Where is... here?" said Martha as she scanned the featureless scene. "I can't see a thing, except for this fog..."

"We are at the magic place!" said the squirrel, as it finally broke through the fog in front of her.

"I don't see anything."

"Wait," it said, and sat upon its midnight-colored haunches.

"Wait for what?"

"We wait. The master comes soon."

"Master?"

"Quiet!"

Martha could smell something earthy coming toward her through the mist, now, but she still couldn't see anything. The scent grew stronger, but there was no sound except the fluttering of her own heart, the ragged sucking of her own lungs. She couldn't even hear he squirrel breathing.

Martha glanced over, just to make sure the little creature was still with her. She didnt want to be abandoned here, wherever here was supposed to be. She wouldn't put it past a squirrel to pull a trick like this, although something this elaborate was usually beyond them.

It looked up at her with tiny, intelligent eyes, then gasped and stared past her.

"The Master is back!" it said, before it bent itself into what could only be described as a bow.

Martha turned. Behind her was what seemed to be another dog, although it still smelled all wrong. It was as black as the squirrel, but much bigger. Somehow, it seemed to blur at the edges, almost as if it was one with the mist.

"I thought you would be most comfortable with this form," he said, and shook himself to get the droplets of fog out of his fur.

"Um... sir... I'm sorry but I'm not really sure what I'm doing here."

"You need magic, right?"

"Yes, but..."

"I have magic."

"Okay. Um..."

"I want to make a deal with you."

"What's that? What..."

"It's really that simple."

"What do you want?"

"You are about to die, Martha," it said, too calm for Martha's liking.

Martha gasped, and tried to back away from him. Was he going to...

"No. I'm not ready yet! I want... I want to see Helen one more time! Dont hurt me!"

"I'm not going to hurt you, but still, your life will be over very soon. There is no escape."

"H... how soon?"

"Minutes."

"How do you know? Maybe this is just a horrible dream. I... I need to wake up!"

"I know these things, and no, this is not a dream."

"Then what's the point of talking to me if the only thing you know about me is that I'm about to die? What use am I to anyone?" she said.

Martha always thought of herself as a brave sort of creature, but the idea that she was about to die, to really die for good and forever, it made her weak at the knees. She wasn't ready! Despite all her misgivings about being able to survive until Helen's return at Winter Break, she had hoped she could hold out for at least that long.

"The deal I am about to offer you will not save you from fate. It is after the fates have finished their work that concerns me, anyways."

"I want to go back! Let me go! You have to let me go back!" cried Martha.

"It is too late," said the creature, and hung his head. "You felt it? That was your very last moment. You can only move forward now."

"Mister... dog?! Help me! Send me back! I just want to see Helen again!" Martha shouted, prancing and pacing before him in her terror.

"Calm yourself. You knew this was coming. Now that it has, it is my job to guide you forward."

Martha backed away from him into the swirling mist. She had to get home. She had to wake up!

"Martha," the creature's voice floated toward her. "You have yet to hear what I have to offer you. You would do well to listen before brushing me off."

Martha darted to the right, then the left. There didn't seem to be anywhere she could go, though. Every place she went was the same. Mist swirled as she passed, but otherwise, the landscape was formless and flat.

Finally, she stopped, huffing.

"Are you ready to listen?" said the voice, as his dark shape coalesced before her.

"Who are you!?" she growled, backing away from it now that she had something to back away from.

"After physical death, souls require a guide to take them on, or else they will dissipate and be gone forever."

"That's not an answer to my question!"

"I am the guide."

"What do you want?!"

"Certain souls are difficult, simply because they have managed to gather or create some small magic of their own. You are one such soul, but you aren't the only one."

"Magic? I have... magic?"

"Rather more than you know. How else do you think you could communicate so freely with the humans?"

"It was the alphabet soup! They said it made me talk... even though... I always talked..." she trailed off.

"Magic is fickle. Unstable. It swarms around some souls, and trickles through others. It hides itself from others, still. It makes it's own rules. There is no knowing where it will gather, or what it will do, because while it is conscious, it lacks any form of reason."

"Just tell me what you want. I can't stand any more philosophy talk right now."

"What you want more than anything is see your Helen once more before you move on."

"Yes."

"In order to do this, you would need to live on past your time. The magic needed for such a feat would be massive. Only one creature on your world has ever had so much: a man. It was a disaster for one soul to hold so much power, a violation of the natural order. Millions of souls have come to me too early because of the choices of this one man. No sane creature would desire to posses this much magic. I know that no matter what you desire, you wouldn't want to get it like that."

"So... so... I'm never going to see her again, am I?" Martha howled.

"There is another path, one that would eventually bring the two of you together again."

"What is it?!"

"The seed of magic inside you would allow you to stay here with me for a time before moving on. You wouldn't just sit, though."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Tiki!" he barked, startling Martha.

The squirrel from before stepped out of the swirling mist. It bowed again, but did not speak.

"This is Tiki. Or rather, it was Tiki. He helps me gather the souls, like yours, that need a little convincing before they come along. He is one of many."

"You want me to..."

"I want you to help me save other magically-occluded souls from oblivion."

"How does that get me back to Helen?"

"She doesn't know it yet, but the magical spring below your town has affected her, too, though, in different way than it did you."

"Wait... what spring?"

"It is the source of the magic. It is an underground river that feeds into the town of Wagstaf's water supply. The factory that makes Granny's Alphabet Soup, amongst many other products, has been taking water from this source since it was established."

"Why didn't all the dogs start talking?"

"Like I said, magic is fickle. It picks some souls, and not others. It makes its own rules."

"Great. What's it going to do to Helen?"

"Maybe something amazing. Maybe nothing. Even I can't see the future. Except..."

"What?!"

"I know that all creatures must die. One day, Helen will die. When she does, she will need you one more time. Her essence will need your guidance to find its way here, or she will disappear forever."

"So... so, are you saying that if I help you, you will let me see Helen again?"

Martha's tail shot up and began to wag. She pawed the ground, almost dancing.

"You can still refuse. It is not within my capacity to be displeased, to punish you. Whether you do this work or not, you will still have died. You can't fully return now, no matter what you desire. You can move on immediately or choose to wait, and your results will be the same. You may change your mind at any time. I cannot force you."

"Except, if I do this, then I get to move on with Helen, instead of alone, right?"

"Right."

"I want to do it."

"The wait will could be long."

"I don't care."

"The work isn't always easy."

"When do I start?"

"Today. Now."

. . . . .

"Honey, I think we better call Helen."

Helen's mother leaned against the wall. She pressed the receiver to her lips. She didn't want Jake to hear this next part.

"I... I just went outside to check. Martha had been in the same spot in the yard for hours. And... she wasn't breathing anymore. I didn't even bother calling the vet. She was already cold when I got there."

"Okay. I'll call Helen. She's going to be a mess when she hears the news."

"I know. I hope she doesn't think this is her fault. Martha was already sick."

"Well, I'll try to break it to her gently."

"You don't think she'll want to come home when she hears?"

"Probably. Maybe she isn't even on the plane yet. We can get her a new flight out in a couple of days, though. Classes don't start until Monday, so she'll still make it in time."

"I know how important Martha was to her, though. Martha was the reason she chose veterinary school in the first place."

"Well, I'm going to get off the line with you, so I can catch her before she's on the plane."

"Okay, Honey. Talk to you later."

"Bye."


End file.
